


All manner of thing

by ComplicatedLight



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Julian of Norwich, Psychic, tarot reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/pseuds/ComplicatedLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James, full of contempt, visits a psychic. Things do not go as he imagined they would . . . . which, as it turns out, is all for the good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All manner of thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Inspector Lewis Season 7 Fanwork Challenge - Down Among the Fearful - Part Two.
> 
> No real spoilers except for very general themes.
> 
> As anyone who knows anything about it will see - I know nothing about reading tarot cards! Armed with a small amount of spare time, wikipedia and an active imagination, I've come up with this - not intended to be an accurate representation of anything - just a story about James examining his life.
> 
> Thanks again to the wonderful [dogpoet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet) for beta-ing of quality and distinction.

James threw the remains of his cigarette on the pavement, opened the gate, and walked the path through the well-kept front garden of the solid, 1930’s house. As had happened on many occasions in his life, he found himself having to deal with the uncomfortable consequence of an impulsive act. At least this time no one was likely to get hurt, or worse. Even at this point, having driven for half an hour in heavy traffic, he considered just turning round and leaving. He’d made the appointment though, and felt an obligation to go through with it, not able to let this stranger down despite his certainty that he would feel nothing but contempt for her once they met.

 

He sighed and rang the bell. What the hell did he think he was going to do when he met this psychic anyway? Denounce them for the charlatan they most certainly were? Pretend he was going along with the charade of the ‘reading’ but inwardly mock them? During the most recent case he’d become increasingly angry with the whole idea of psychics preying on the vulnerable and grieving, and as soon as the case was over, he’d looked on-line for a psychic – one who didn’t know him from the investigation - and without giving himself time to cool down had booked an appointment for a tarot card reading.

 

The door opened and James felt an immediate wave of disappointment. In his imagination, Sarah Durham, in all her psychic’s glory, had wafted in front of him in many layers of silk, all dangling crystal pendants and dramatic eye make-up. Instead, somewhat to his consternation, here he was being greeted by a small, plain woman in her late 60’s, dressed in an unremarkable blue skirt and cream blouse. Her grey hair was cut in a rather severe but stylish bob.

 

“Mr Williams?”

 

James nodded and, looking for all the world like a stroppy teenager trying to make a point, kept his hands jammed in his coat pockets, rather than offering one for her to shake. She stepped to one side to allow James to enter.

 

“Sarah Durham. Please do come in”

 

She led James down the hallway and ushered him into a simply decorated, sunny room at the rear of the house. He cast his detective’s eyes over the furnishings and the two rather attractive deco prints on the wall. Grudgingly, he acknowledged to himself her rather good taste.

 

A small table was positioned in the window, and she indicated for him to sit at one side of it, taking her place opposite him. She made no attempts at small talk with him, perhaps already aware of the unlikelihood of him responding. Only when she rested her small, weathered hands on the table in front of her did he see her one concession to psychic chic – a single silver ring on the index finger of her right hand, the claw of the setting holding an agate the size and shape of a quail’s egg. The stone, in parts clear, in parts white-ish and run through with mossy green veins, reminded James, rather stomach-churningly, of an eye, milky with cataract. As she spoke, he dragged his eyes away from it.

 

“This is your first reading, I take it, Mr. Williams?”

 

James indicated that it was.

 

“Is there anything you would like to ask me – or tell me – before we begin?”

 

James shook his head, amused at so brazen an attempt by the woman to pump him for information. So she hadn’t even planned on ‘reading’ him – just went straight in and asked him to tell her what she would then no doubt have offered right back, suitably dressed up in mystical crap. He said nothing.

 

“What in particular do you want to use this reading to explore?”

 

He huffed a breath out, no doubt communicating his irritation at this second attempt to elicit information.  

 

“I have absolutely no idea.”

 

He was aware that he was coming across as rude, aggressive even, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. Didn’t really try.

 

She waited a few moments, but when nothing more was forthcoming, said evenly:

 

“Then I’ll do a general reading. A taking stock of where things are, and a look at what might be. Will that suit?”

 

She calmly met James’ gaze, waiting for his response. Eventually he inclined his head – the slightest of nods. She took the pack of cards out from the cherry-coloured piece of cotton wrapped around them, separated some of the cards from the pack, and shuffled then cut the selected cards several times. She laid out eight cards in a row between them on the table, carefully putting the rest of the pack to one side.

 

“The first four cards will help us look at how things are. The remaining four will give us some views on how things might be.”

 

She turned over the first two cards and then paused, taking in what had been revealed. James waited for her to make another attempt to quiz him, but instead, after a minute, she sighed and said softly:

 

“So much death.”

 

James’ eyes shot up to hers before he could stop himself. He dropped his gaze back to the cards, saying nothing, forcing his breath to steady. She indicated the first two cards with the ringed hand.

 

“These two are about your work. Not just paid employment, but perhaps more accurately your life’s work or purpose, at least to this point.”

 

She frowned and hesitated, as if struggling to know how best to proceed.

 

“You take care of people in this work, or try to, as best you can. But all I can see is death. Violent death. I don’t know what that means, Mr Williams, but it’s what I see. Perhaps you’re an undertaker?”

 

Their eyes met, James’ wide with confusion, mouth clamped shut. She carried on.

 

“You do your work well. You make a difference I believe,” and again she paused, “but the cost to you is immense. This work with the dead, this care for the dead, whatever it is – you are slowly dying of it yourself.” James stared at her, shocked that she would say something like this to a client – surely she was breaking whatever guidelines this objectionable band of con artists worked to?  

 

“I don’t mean that you are dying literally, Mr Williams, well, not a physical death. I mean that this work is draining the life from you, diminishing you. More a slow death of the soul . . . . if you believe in such a thing. I think you are barely alive in your own life.”

 

She paused, and they sat across from each other in silence for a while. James focused his attention on the skin around one of his nails, started to pick at it, glancing in her direction a couple of times. Eventually, she turned over the next two cards and nodded to herself before continuing.

 

“These two are for your heart. Well. You love . . . . and you are loved . . . . and we might expect that this would indicate happiness. But something is not quite . . . . death also has played a part here, but that’s not necessarily the problem, the whole story. There is something . . . . missing.”

 

She looked steadily at James, at his purposely blank, almost death-mask face, at the rigidity in his shoulders and neck as he worked to say nothing, show nothing. She smiled, the slightest, gentlest of smiles.

 

“Perhaps the problem is a lack of communication? I think you have had a great deal of practise at saying nothing, Mr Williams?”

 

She smiled more fully.

 

“I could imagine that that might make the path of true love a little . . . . hard-going . . . . especially if the other party isn’t blessed with psychic abilities.”

 

He stared at her in disbelief as she raised a questioning eyebrow. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t mocking him. Her expression was soft, though she appeared confident in what she had said. Again she waited for James to speak, and again he said nothing, but now he was watching her intently, all feigned disinterest forgotten. And although there might have been no exchange of words, she was quite observant enough to note the flashes of colour rising in his cheeks.

 

“Let’s now concern ourselves with what might be.”

 

She turned over the fifth and sixth cards, the mossy egg improbably large against her hand.

 

“These two cards relate to your future, a possible future.”

 

James looked closely at the pictures and words on the cards. The first actually had the word death on it, and a rather lurid image of a man being trampled to death by a horse ridden by a skeleton. Despite himself he was not able to stifle a shudder. She smiled again, reassuringly.

 

“The death card when it appears in a reading, rarely refers to actual death, and I don’t believe it does here. Rather it indicates the need for the end or death of one aspect of life, in order to make way for new possibilities. The death card is really the harbinger of change. Unsettling, yes, but rarely lethal. These two cards together suggest both the need for and the possibility of change. The second card refers to wisdom, to knowledge. Perhaps it indicates the need for you to make life changes based on your knowledge and wisdom, but that seems rather obvious.”

 

She paused for a few moments, thinking.

 

“I see this card regularly with clients involved in academia, where it represents the intellect and acquired knowledge. I don’t know if this makes any sense to you, but perhaps it’s suggesting the possibility of taking life, your life’s work, in an academic direction? And in conjunction with Death, which can also be seen to represent cycles of life, perhaps there is some way in which this would mean a return to your roots? Returning to yourself that which was lost?”

 

James stared at her in disbelief, unable to form the words, even if he had known what words he wanted to say.

 

“Well, of course it’s for you to make your own sense of it.”

 

She turned over the final two cards, laughing with delight as she recognised them. The first, a picture of a naked man and a woman – The Lovers. The second, a naked woman kneeling before a lake, pouring water from a pitcher, a massive star hanging in the night sky above her.

 

“So, here we are, with your heart once again.”

 

Sarah Durham indicated the first of the two. You’ll need no help from me in getting the most obvious meaning of this card. It’s about love, sex, relationships. More broadly, becoming an adult, and making a home for ourselves in the world, away from that of our childhood. But it also serves to remind us that we need other people to become fully ourselves.”

 

She looked at him sharply.

 

“Regardless of whatever nonsense we might tell ourselves to the contrary.”

 

She smiled again as she turned her attention to the final card.

 

“The Star. The star lights our way, shows us that there is a way, even through the dark night. It’s about renewed hope, the possibility of peace, joy. All the good things. I cannot think of a combination of cards I would rather have read for you, Mr Williams. The Lovers and the Star. You have the possibility of love, lasting, joyous love. In some way – also for you to make sense of – it is already right beside you, waiting for you, even. Is there someone, Mr Williams?”

 

And finally James was unable to hold it in - to keep the mask in place. He turned his head away, attempting to hide the tears, the flood of happiness pouring out of him, and she was kind enough to make no reference to what she could clearly see from across the table. Instead she waited quietly for him to compose himself and then said:

 

“You may not wish to take the advice of an old, rather eccentric woman, one who you perhaps neither trust nor respect, but here is my advice for you all the same. Take courage Mr Williams. Spend less time with the dead. Pay more attention to your soul than to your overdeveloped sense of duty. Make the changes you need to make. Say what your heart needs you to say.”

 

She placed her hands flat on the table in front of her once more, indicating that the reading was at an end. She looked at James directly, and he met her gaze.

 

“I don’t know if you’re a religious man, Mr Williams? Myself, I am not a Christian, though I think there are many beautiful teachings in that faith. Sitting with you and your cards, I am reminded of those lovely words of Julian of Norwich.”

 

As she spoke, James closed his eyes and silently recited the words with her.

 

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

 

 


End file.
